Just Watch Us
by awaylaughing
Summary: An exploration in the relationship between the nation of Canada as represented by one Matthew Williams and Pierre Trudeau, one of Canada's most beloved Prime Ministers.


**Title: **Just Watch Us

**Summary: **An exploration in the relationship between the nation of Canada as represented by one Matthew Williams and Pierre Trudeau, one of Canada's most beloved Prime Ministers.

**Pairings: **Trudeau/Canada, America/Canada, implied Cuba/Canada and Netherlands/Canada

**Warnings:** Heavily implied sexual relations, adultery and character death.

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, never will be.

**Author's Note: **This is dedicated to IlluminatedShadow, because without her I'd have been able to ignore the impulse to write this.

xXxXx

"Pierre!" Matthew barely heard the shout before something small and firm ran into his legs, almost sending him toppling. "Pierre!" if anything the woman's voice had become even more agitated and Matthew looked down at the boy who had run into him. He was small, maybe five or six, with dark eyes and dark hair, and he look completely unapologetic.

"Hello," Matthew said easily and the boy simply rolled to his feet as his annoyed mother caught up with him.

"Pierre Trudeau," she hissed, face flushed, "where are your manners?" Pierre shifted to look at Matthew, obviously no sorry at all.

"Sorry sir," he muttered, and the girl holding her mother's hand scoffed.

"He is not," she said accusingly, and Pierre stuck out his tongue.

"I am too Suzette," he replied and the dark haired girl opened her mouth to reply only for their mother to intervene.

"I am sorry about this sir," she fussed, "Pierre does not mean anything by it, he's simply spirited."

"It's quite all right ma'am," he told her, "I understand, my brother is the most spirited person on this planet."

She chuckled at that, placing a slightly dusty cap on her sons head, a warning look telling him not to take it off. "For some reason I do not think I wish to encounter anyone more spirited than my Pierre."

Matthew smiled softly at that, "some how that seems unavoidable now," he said, more to himself, ignoring the confused look she gave him. "Have a good day ma'am, Pierre, Suzette." He gave Suzette a tiny bow, offering his hand to Pierre. The boy took it, shaking it enthusiastically.

"Goodbye sir," the children called out in unison and Matthew laughed, waving over his shoulder. If he thought anything was special about Pierre Trudeau he must have shaken it off, because after all, he'd met hundreds of his people that way, and would no doubt meet hundreds more.

Before long he'd probably forget the boy.

xXxXx

The hotel room was hot, the windows open, and the whole thing smelt of smoke and smog, Matthew half out the window, cigarette dangling loosely while Alfred lounged in the bed.

"Any reason you're not talking to me?"Alfred asked, taking a deep drag before releasing into the room.

"Maybe you're just a shit lay," Matthew said, voice dull and Alfred snorted, taking another drag.

"Mattie," he said cockily, "you're not that good an actor. Why are you angry with me now."

Matthew took a puff of his cigarette, letting it slowly before placing the barely burnt out stick in his mouth, letting it hang out the corner of his mouth. "Trudeau," he said finally, still looking out the window and Alfred groaned, sitting up and putting out his cigarette.

"Didn't we agree, no discussing politics in bed."

"I'm not in bed," Matthew snapped, taking the cigarette out and taking another pull.

"Why in the name of all that is good does this bother you?" Alfred demanded, now on the edge of the bed, "he's blacklisted from one of your own universities."

"One university," Matthew countered, "not an entire country."

Alfred sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair, "have you even met this kid?"

"He's almost forty, he's not a kid," Matthew said, voice a little calmer, "and yes I have."

"I'm almost five hundred," Alfred said blandly, "he's a kid."

Matthew let out a little laugh at that, "you sound like Arthur," he teased. Alfred sputtered at that. After a moment of outrage the southern nation stood, coming up behind Matthew, wrapping his arms around the others waist.

"I'll see what I can do," Alfred said, "now get in bed."

"Again?" Matthew asked mildly, and Alfred grinned against his neck.

"Or maybe it's just to get you to shut up."

xXxXx

Matthew shuffled through the papers Pearson had left with little interest, more as an excuse to pass the time than anything. Outside in the hall he heard the approaching footsteps and he hastily stood, smoothing out his suit and putting the papers in a neat pile.

Pearson had both Trudeau and Sharp with him, a slightly unusual mix but Matthew made no remark, patiently waiting for the conversation to end. As was the usual, it took several minutes for anyone to bother with him, not so much because they forgot but rather because they thought he was an assistant to the Prime Minister.

"Prime Minister Pearson," Trudeau sounded almost devious as he spoke, and Matthew half wondered if his mother had ever ended up having a hernia or an ulcer, "you've failed to introduce a member of the party it seems."

Sharp, who hadn't been facing him turned look at him, smiling briefly. "Ah Mr. Williams," he said, "I was beginning to wonder where you'd run off to, my wife has been asking after you, she seems to believe you promised to come to a family dinner."

"My apologies to Mrs. Sharp," Matthew said mildly, ignoring Trudeau's piercing gaze, "I had business in London to attend to."

"Ah," Trudeau stepped forward at that, "a well travelled boy are you, Mr. Williams was it?"

"Yes, Matthew Williams," was the soft reply as Matthew accepted Trudeau's proffered hand, "and I've travelled some."

"Have you been to Paris?" Trudeau still had Matthew's hand in his, not letting go.

"Several times," Matthew said, "I was not terribly fond of it, I always seem to arrive in time for tragedy to strike."

"Well Mr. Williams," Trudeau finally released his hand, "I'm sad to hear that though," he gave Matthew a charming grin, "I think you may be somewhat young for tragedy, no?"

"I'm afraid not Mr. Trudeau," Matthew said, stepping away. "Mr. Sharp, contact me later with a time and place and I will gladly accept an invitation to a family dinner. Prime Minister, was there something you needed?"

"Not at all Matthew," Pearson said fondly, "I just thought to introduce you two before we went out for a business supper, you can go if you want."

"Thank you sir," Matthew said, "goodbye Mr. Sharp, Mr. Trudeau, I hope to see more of you."

Trudeau smiled again at that, eyes sharp, "and I too hope to see more of you Mr. Williams, good night."

xXxXx

Trudeau caught sight of Matthew Williams almost immediately. He had, over the last two years, become very efficient when it came to locating the blond, and he was a bit bemused to see him talking animatedly to a tall brown haired man. As far as the justice minister could tell, Matthew Williams, position uncertain and authority clearly great, was never animated, always calm and cool. As he approached, the conversation became audible.

"These really are wonderful Lars," he had a handful of variegated tulips with him, red and white it looked like, and he was smiling up at the taller man, "I don't think I've seen them before, are they new?"

"The first time we've thought to send them," the man was obviously Dutch and Trudeau slowed as he got closer, "I'm glad you like them."

"I love all the flowers you send," Williams said easily, looking up he caught sight of Pierre, and surprisingly his smile did not dim. "Mr. Trudeau, what a pleasant surprise, I did not know you liked tulips."

"I make it a point to appreciate beauty where I can find it Mr. Williams," he turned to the Dutchman, "Pierre Trudeau, Minister of Justice."

"Lars Dijkstra," the taller man said, "friend of Mattheiu's."

"Matthieu?" Trudeau raised an eyebrow, "do people often call you by the French name?"

"My," Williams paused, "father is French."

"Oh? From Montreal? Or Quebec City?"

"Paris," Matthew said blandly.

"You told me you don't like Paris," Trudeau was gratified by the look of shock on the blonds face.

"That was two years ago," the boy said, "I'm surprised you recall that."

"I make it a point to remember everything you tell me, Matthieu." Matthew stared at for a moment until Lars muttered something in Dutch.

"I uh, I should go, Lars doesn't visit often and uh," the boy was flustered, cheeks pink, and Trudeau was pleased by the reaction, as well as the displeased look the Dutchman was giving him, "bye."

Trudeau watched them leave, the Dutchman firmly leading the blond away, a smirk on his face, he quite liked Matthew Williams. Quite a lot, actually. And soon the blond would know it.

xXxXx

"Congratulations Prime Minister Trudeau," the calm voice almost made Trudeau jump, looking up from his position leaning against his door.

"Matthieu," he said, not really surprised to find the blond in his office, "is there anywhere they don't let you?"

"They discourage my going to D.C," the other said, "but I don't really listen." He gave Trudeau a one over, smiling slightly as he did so. "There is something we need to discuss," he said, "please take a seat."

If Trudeau felt odd about being invited to sit in his own office he didn't show it, calmly doing as directed, face expectant. "I must say," he said, eyes sparkling, "I'm becoming very bemused by you Matthieu."

"I get that often actually," Matthew muttered, "here's the thing," he shifted in obvious discomfort, "I'm Canada."

Trudeau didn't say a word for a full minute before he stood slowly. "Matthieu," he said, "you think you are Canada, do you?"

The blond huffed, crossing his arms, "no. I am Canada." When his new Prime Minister failed to respond, simply staring at him, Matthew sighed. "Touch me."

"What?" the request seemed so out of place that Trudeau actually looked flustered, brows furrowed, and Matthew blushed slightly before offering his hand.

"Touch me," he said, much more softly and after a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation Trudeau accepted the hand.

It was fairly cool, actually, with callused palms and long fingers, and Pierre felt something almost like a wave go over him at the skin to skin contact. "Prime Minster?" Matthew, Canada, sounded uncertain, and Trudeau shook his head, smile turning into something beaming.

"Call me Pierre, Matthieu," he said, fingers moving slowly against a pale wrist, "we are very close after all, aren't we?"

"Ah," Matthew was blushing intensely, "yes."

Pierre's hand was trailing up the nations clothes arm by that point, coming to a stiff shoulder. "We should probably be closer though," the politician said, "I am your," he paused, unsure of where he fit into the life of a national embodiment.

"Boss," Matthew muttered, eyes wide but not pulling away, despite the fact his rapidly pinking nose was almost touching Trudeau's.

"Boss then," the man agreed before sealing the distance between them.

xXxXx

"You," Matthew was drunk and he knew it, "you are married." Pierre Trudeau had him practically on his lap, sitting at his desk, the office door having been locked with an almost terrifying finality.

"I am," the Prime Minister admitted, hand trailing slightly knobby spine. Matthew scowled, a face belied by his squirming and wine flushed face.

"I should be more upset by that," the nation sounded wistful, something only increased by the nails raking down his back were distracting, and it ended up tapering into a whine.

"No you need not Matthieu," Pierre said, lips rather suddenly against the nation's collar bone, "I adore you."

"I," Matthew had spent decades, possibly, centuries fending off Alfred who was surprisingly capable of subterfuge, but he seemed to be useless against Pierre. Then again, it was _Pierre._ "I can handle that," he said finally, softly, and he felt Pierre grin against his neck.

"Yes you can," he agreed, kissing his jaw "ah je t'aime."

xXxXx

Matthew was sitting against the head board on Pierre and Margaret's bed, blanket's wrapped around his shuddering body, arms wrapped around his knees. Margaret hovered anxiously in the door way, watching her husband try and soothe the trembling nation. "Should I get something?" Pierre barely turned to look at her, shaking his head gently.

"No no," he said softly, "why don't you take Justin and Alexandre to a friends house for the night." She nodded, thankful to leave behind the broken figure on the bed. "Matthieu," turning back to his nation Pierre frowned, smoothing back some hair, tucking it behind a pale ear. "I will make this right, I promise." Matthew latched onto the hand on his knee, knuckles white, and Trudeau managed to keep his face blank, a little amazed by the power Matthew hid daily.

"I-I," tears welled in his eyes, "I saw you on the television." Trudeau gently pried himself from the desperate grasp, instead sliding up next to his nation.

Placing a kiss on the top his head Pierre hushed him, "I meant it Matthieu," he said solemnly, "I will stop this. You will be fine."

"Ils veulent me déchier," he wimpered, "je veux me déchier."

"Pas maintentant," his Prime Minister said firmly, "jamais. Je ne vais pas le permis." Smiling softly he detracted himself from the other, standing, "just watch me."

xXxXx

Trudeau found he was not at all intimidated by the former British Empire, even when he was obviously annoyed. "You are not going in."

"You've said that already," the nation seemed a little embarrassed to be out on the stoop, arguing with an upstart. "And I want to know why."

"You'll upset him," Trudeau made it sound very obvious, "you do that even when he isn't half mad."

England bristled at that, green eyes narrowing. "I never-"

"No," Trudeau sounded like he was agreeing, "never on purpose, but it changes nothing. You are not coming anywhere near Matthieu until he is well enough to throw you out himself if need be. Besides," a shadow of smirk wormed its way onto Trudeau's face. "He has a visitor."

With that he turned, reentering the house and closing the door firmly behind him. Arthur stood stock still for a moment before swearing explosively and finally leaving.

"Thank you thank you thank you," Matthew trembled in relief, tanned arms the only thing keeping him from the ground.

xXxXx

"Ah niño," Cuba was incredibly warm against Matthew, and he shushed the half sobs coming from the blond, "I would do much more for you." That earned another sob and Miguel finally sighed, sitting on the floor of the abandoned hall, keeping a firm grasp on Matthew. "And you know I have plenty of people who own baseball bats that need to make money."

Matthew gave a watery chuckle at that, shaking his head into the larger mans chest. "No," he said, "I don't really hate them."

"I know," the Hispanic did know, "I was joking." Mostly. "Now," he stood, tugging the other up, "Trudeau will have my head if he sees those tear tracks," he wiped them off lightly, thumb moving slowly. "He loves you very much."

"I-" Matthew blushed.

"I know niño," Miguel said gently, "no need to explain."

xXxXx

The cafe was small, not at all busy and the two men on the patio outside were relaxed, the blond smiling softly, hand wrapped around a cup of cocoa. "I'm not angry," he said softly to his companion and the man smiled.

"I don't believe you entirely," he said wryly, "you threw a full decanter of sherry at me when I said I was stepping down."

"Well I'm not angry anymore," the other said, "I just felt," he looked away, "like you were leaving me."

"Ah Matthieu," Pierre Trudeau looked older in the soft morning light, "all these years and still you do not believe me."

"Well I," Matthew cut himself off. "I love you too."

xXxXx

There was no one left by the burial site except Matthew and Trudeaus, Sarah standing slightly away from Justin and Alexandre, the hole where Michael would have stood obvious and a sharp pain for some. Matthew was slightly behind Pierre's immediate family, hanging back, unsure of himself. After a moment's hesitation he turned to leave knowing Miguel was at the graveyard entrance waiting for him. "," it was Justin who caught his elbow, no real surprise, and Matthew felt a little odd, staring a boy who's birth he'd been present for, now an adult and him not a minute older, at least not psychically.

"Justin," he said softly, "I thought I'd leave you to spend some time with your father."

"You are practically family," the other said wryly, "I remember camping with you."

"It was only once," Matthew objected mildly, "and besides, I really should go."

Justin regarded him for another moment before smiling sadly and letting him go, "dad really did love you," he said, "possibly more than us."

Matthew shook his head, patting Justin's shoulder gently, "it was a different sort of love, not comparable at all." With that he turned away, leaving Pierre Trudeau and his family behind.

At the gate Miguel was smoking, gazing up. "I think that's a rabbit," he said by way of greeting and Matthew looked up, studying the sky for a moment.

"Definitely a unicorn," he said, linking arms. Miguel put out his cigarette, for once without a cigar, and they walked slowly, away from the funeral home and the graveyard.

"You'll be alright?" Miguel's concern was gruff but very true and Matthew nodded, smiling.

"I've been in love many times Miguel," Matthew said softly, "and I've survived them all." Miguel nodded, keeping his remarks about certain lovers to himself and Matthew smiled.

xXxXx

**Translations**

Ils veulent me déchier, je veux me déchier - They want to tear me apart, I want to tear myself apart

Pas maintentant, pas jamais. Je ne vais pas le permis - Not now, not ever. I will not permit it.

**Timeline and notes**

First part, random encounter when Pierre is five.

Second part, in the 1950s Trudeau was banned from the States due to his socialist views and the fact he'd been seen in Moscow at conferences.

Third part, 1965 Trudeau becomes Minister of Justice

Fourth part, sometime before becoming Prime Minister at the annual tulip festival, a thanks from the Netherlands to Canada for liberating the Netherlands during WW2.

Fifth part, Trudeau is made PM.

Sixth, sometime during Trudeau's first term in office.

Seventh, Eight and Nine - FLQ crisis

Tenth, 1979 Trudeau plans to step down as Liberal leader after Joe Clark wins the election, however Trudeau is reelected into office in 1980.

Eleventh, Trudeau's funeral in 2000, Fidel Castro is a pallbearer, Michel, the missing son died in 1998 in an avalanche. Sarah Coyne is his illegitimate daughter.

Other than that, I'd have written actual sex scenes but...well I can't write sex scenes about Pierre Trudeau, I'm sorry.


End file.
